Lysander to Hermia

Miss Flaxman

To Hermia Sitting under a Laburnum

What lovely white-robed sylph do I behold
Through those gay wreaths of softly waving gold?
It is my Hermia, gentle blue-eyed maid,
Beneath the rich laburnum’s glittering shade.
But say to what can I with truth compare
A vision that’s so bright, so passing fair!
Shall I call Hermia in her dainty bower
Another Danae in a golden shower?
Or Cynthia bright’ning all the tranquil grove
When young Endymion slept, I dream’d of love.
Stop erring Muse, or we shall both offend
With similes like these, my gentle friend.
Did I possess the tuneful Petratch’s art,
To sing the chosen lady of my heart,
The listening world should praise Lysander’s song
And echo each melodious note along.
For not in famed Vaucluse’s blooming bowers
Shone Laura brighter mid the falling flowers.